


The IT Guy

by beforetheymakemerun



Category: The Rolling Stones
Genre: AU, Mick and Keith hook up in the bathroom, One Shot, This is not meant to be taken too seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforetheymakemerun/pseuds/beforetheymakemerun
Summary: Keith works at an ad company in NYC. Mick is the IT guy for their office.
Relationships: Mick Jagger/Keith Richards
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	The IT Guy

**Author's Note:**

> I literally came up with the idea for Mick being an IT guy at Keith's office when I was still half asleep, and I thought it was funny and decided to go for it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I know nothing about ad companies or IT problems!

The projector went down three hours before the major presentation. The ad was for Pepsi. It was obviously a big deal because if they got Pepsi they could get anyone. They were a small company, but they were on their way to the top. 

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Keith’s boss, Bob, pounded both fists on the conference room table.

Keith pretended not to be phased. It was why he was Bob’s favorite, because he pretended not to care when Bob raged or rage-broke things or went off on one of his tangents. Keith pretended like that was a perfectly natural thing to do. In this case, it really was. If they couldn’t give their presentation they’d be written off. Keith had worked hard on the graphics for the ad. He didn’t really care about Pepsi, he didn’t really care about Bob, but he did care about having a job and paying his bills. 

Karen accidentally knocked over a stack of papers when Bob slammed his fists on the table. Bob glared at her. She blushed. Keith felt bad for her. He and Karen were office friends. They ate lunch together sometimes. She hated when Bob got mad. She was not Bob’s favorite. 

“Karen,” Bob growled.

She looked like she might faint. 

“Call that fucking IT company!”

Karen fixed the stack of papers. “IT Now?” That was the name of the company they contracted.

“Yeah. Get someone over here ASAP. Sooner than fucking ASAP!”

Karen nodded. She’d regained her composure, and Keith could see how hard she was fighting down her annoyance with Bob. She wanted to say something. She needed her job. 

“Richards. Go get us cigarettes,” Bob said, tossing Keith the company credit card.

By the time Keith got back, the IT guy was there, squatting in front of the projector in the meeting room. Keith handed a pack of cigarettes to Bob, tucked one for himself in his breast pocket. Bob was generous if he liked you. Bob was also not scrupulous with his finances, which was why Keith had bought a pack for Karen too. 

“Good man,” Bob said, clapping Keith’s shoulder. Then he nodded his head toward the conference room. “You’re young. Go in there and see if you can make heads from tails of what that kid is saying.” 

Keith knocked once on the glass conference room door and went in. The IT guy was plugging and unplugging a cord, pressing a button and then pressing it again. He had longish hair falling in his eyes, which was why Bob had called him a kid, but he was well dressed in hard shoes, slacks, and a polo shirt. "Michael" was stitched over the left breast of his shirt. His big, silver watch alluded to some level of maturity. 

“Bit the dust?” Keith asked, leaning back against the conference table. 

Michael just kept pressing and releasing the button. “I usually work with computers, not projectors,” he said, his back to Keith. 

“Doesn’t translate?”

“No,” Michael said, straightening up, “I’m just saying this is beneath me.”

Keith couldn’t help cracking a smile. “Beneath you?”

“I’ve tracked down government hackers. Your projector won’t turn one because someone spilled something on it. It’s done for.”

Keith grinned. He had no idea if Michael was lying or not about the government spies. As far as the projector, it indeed looked dejected. “What’s spilled on it?”

“I’m not a beverage expert.” Michael picked up his messenger bag from the floor. “You need a new one. I expect Staples sells a fine replacement that even you could install.”

Keith laughed again. Michael the IT Guy was such a strange person. For starters, he had a weird face. A mouth that was too big. Eyes with long lashes. He was almost ugly, but wasn’t. He was almost delicate, but wasn’t. He was very sure of himself given that he was an IT Guy. All the IT guys Keith had ever encountered were of an ilk. They had glasses. They were awkward. They looked like they lived in their mother’s basement. 

Michael headed for the door, not bothering to say goodbye. 

***

“Karen! Call that fucker!”

The Pepsi presentation had gone well. They were waiting to hear back. These things always dragged on forever. Why should it take a company months to know which ad campaign to go with? It mystified Keith, but it always took that long. 

Bob’s computer was on the fritz. Karen called the IT company. 

“Tell them to send Michael,” Keith volleyed over the cubical to her. 

She had the receiver pressed to her ear. “Why?”

“I liked him.”

Karen shrugged. Keith had ordered her a sandwich on the company card when he went out to get his and Bob’s lunch. 

When the company picked up, Karen said, “Send Michael please. On bequest of Keith Richards.” Keith rolled his eyes. He wanted Michael because he was at least interesting, and other than Karen, everyone else in the office was dull. And this day was never ending. Waiting on tender hooks for Pepsi, they had nothing major to work on. Keith scrolled through his email to look busy. 

Michael arrive half an hour later, dressed the same as the time previous. He made his assured way to the office marked with Bob’s name, and knocked once before pushing the door open. No one did that to Bob. Keith was impressed. He heard the hitch of outrage in Bob’s voice before Bob realized who it was.

“What is it?” Karen asked, her eyes appearing over their shared cubical wall. 

“He’s just a weird guy. I like him.” Keith stood, and on pretext of using the bathroom, walked past Bob’s office. Bob was flustered, arms crossed over his chest, literally cornered in the corner of the room while Michael crouched to look under his desk. As Keith went by, Michael stood, rolled Bob’s chair smoothly forward, and took a seat. He caught Keith looking at him, and blinked, bored. Keith propelled himself to the bathroom, and burst out laughing once safe inside. He felt a rush of adrenaline that he couldn’t explain. 

***

Pepsi had chosen them!

Bob was so excited when he got the news that he jumped up from his desk, and must have dislodged something from his computer monitor. He didn’t care. He gave Keith the company card to go out for champagne.

The next day (they were all a little hung over), he asked Keith and Karen to look at his computer. They were the youngest people at the ad company. Keith and Karen crawled around Bob’s office, which was fairly small. Bob was the only person with a proper office; the rest of them had cubicles. Keith pulled up a loose wire, Karen pushed a button. Keith leaned forward to connect the wire and their heads knocked. “Fucking hell,” Karen said.

“Sorry!”

“No, not you. Fucking Bob. I’ll call the guy. Your little friend?”

Keith eased himself from under the desk. He rolled his eyes.

“Michael?”

“He’s just a laugh,” Keith said. 

Michael appeared a little while later, went straight to Bob’s office as before. Keith couldn’t help himself. He waited until Karen was immersed in something on her computer, then rose as noiselessly as he  
could to use the bathroom. 

This time, Bob was hulking over Michael, talking nonstop Pepsi, while Michael dispassionately held up a disconnected blue cord. 

“You really couldn’t figure this out?” Keith thought he heard Michael say. Bob didn’t stop his monologue. 

Keith made it to the bathroom, laughing again. He’d wait a moment. Surely Michael would be done by now, indelicately excusing himself. He’d probably refuse to ever come again, since all of their IT problems were so paltry. 

Before Keith had fully composed himself to return to the office floor, the door opened and Michael made a beeline for the sink. He pumped hand soap and turned on the faucet, for a moment concerned with his appearance only. Keith watched Michael watch himself flick his hair off his forehead. Then Michael saw Keith in the mirror. He raised his eyebrows.

“Fixed it already?” Keith asked, trying to look casual, which was basically impossible to do while standing in a public restroom.

“Child’s play,” Michael said, bored, digging his fingers into each palm to get the soap under his nails. He turned off the water and plucked two paper towels. 

“We’ll try to come up with something more interesting for you next time.”

“Why are you standing in the bathroom?” Michael tossed the paper towels. 

Keith was used to office culture, in which everyone pretended everything was fine, always, even when it decidedly wasn’t. “Smoke break,” Keith said, taking his pack from his pocket. This lie made no sense as he was not smoking, and why would he hide out in the bathroom to do so, like a school boy? But a light came on behind Michael’s eyes for the first time. 

“I’ll have one,” he said.

“Sure.” Keith tried to act bored. He strode to the row of rectangular windows past the sinks and shoved one open. Michael joined him. Keith held out the pack to him. Michael’s fingers were long, and his nails were very clean. 

Keith glanced at the door. Smoking in the bathroom wasn’t necessarily a fire-able offense, but it would look very strange. Keith didn’t give a shit about Bob, but this was a good job, living in New York City was expensive, etc. Michael leaned his face to the window and coolly blew out a line of smoke. 

“Are you Keith?” he asked after a moment. 

“Yeah?”

“I go by Mick.” He glanced down at the stitching on his shirt, rolling his eyes. “They wouldn’t embroider ‘Mick,’ they said it was too unprofessional.”

“Okay,” Keith said, not sure where this was going.

“Anyway, my manager told me to come ‘on the bequest of Keith Richards.’”

Keith cycled through a few lies—he could say that simply had not happened, say it had been misinterpreted, say he’d said “Call that company from the last time…I think they sent someone named Michael?”—but for some reason he decided to tell the truth. “Yeah. I asked for you. You’re interesting.”

“Oh, I’m interesting.” Mick blew out more smoke.

Keith knew explaining himself would only make him sound like a little boy, so he just waited, smoking. 

Mick turned his face to Keith. “And what makes me so interesting?” His eyes were green in the sun.

“You tell me,” Keith said, breaking eye contact, taking a drag. The smoke filled his lungs, hot. 

He thought Mick would roll his eyes and say something like “You’re so boring,” or “Talking to office staff is beneath me.” He expected Mick wanted him only for a free smoke and a way to delay returning to the office. What he did not expect was for Mick to extend his hand out the window, drop his cigarette, and press his face into Keith’s. Mick’s cheek was very smooth, he smelled like cologne, he tasted like cigarettes. Keith thought he would jump back, but he didn’t. He stubbed his cigarette against the cinderblock wall and pressed himself forward, grasping Mick by the shoulders, sliding one hand around the back of his neck. 

Keith was good at hiding in plain sight. He wore a goddamn wedding ring to work. He had a consistent fake wife he told Bob about sparingly and occasionally. To Bob, Keith sounded like a good husband, hardworking, patient, not without just the right about of marital strife—isn’t it annoying when your wife hasn’t done the laundry even though she’s been home all day? Keith thought talking about these things was hilarious. He liked when his fake wife one-upped Bob’s. He liked that he was usually a better husband than Bob.

That was all a lie. Keith knew what he liked about Mick. 

Mick pulled back, holding Keith by his tie. For a moment they looked at each other, breathing hard. Then Mick smiled, pleased. “That’s what I thought.”

Keith shrugged, his fingers still on the back of Mick’s neck. “I was going to say because you reject the grinding oppression of corporate life, but okay.”

Mick actually laughed, a genuine laugh that changed his whole face. He was young, and friendly, not strange and stern like other times. He shook off the laugh and planted his hands on Keith’s shoulders, pushing him backward into the larger of the two bathroom stalls. Keith didn’t need to say how dangerous this was. At this point, he didn’t care. 

Mick pulled Keith close by his white shirt collar, their faces just an inch apart. Coffee and cigarettes. Their breath as humid as the air outside. Keith flashed to ironing his shirt that morning in his small apartment, the starchy steam smell of the iron. Never could have imagined this. Mick grasped Keith’s hips, gliding them toward his own. Keith was already painfully hard. He was relieved to feel that Mick was, too. He touched Mick through his pants, and Mick sighed. He thought about stopping, now, about grabbing Mick by the wrist and hailing a cab on the corner, of bringing Mick to his walk-up. He imagined Mick’s apartment would be pristine, everything in its place. Keith hadn’t made his bed since he’d last been forced to, but the sheets were clean. He could make them coffee. They could smoke out the open window in bed. This is the strangest fucking thing, Keith thought. But I think I could actually like him. 

Mick leaned in again, a kiss so light it was barely a kiss, and then he reached in between them and unbuckled Keith’s belt. He kissed him again, just barely, so Keith leaned forward, pressed himself closer, gripping Mick tighter through his pants.

“That’s okay,” Mick breathed. “Let me do you.”

“Really?” Keith could feel his capacity to reason slipping away fast.

When Mick undid his button, and then the zipper, Keith shuddered, and leaned forward to kiss him again, hard. He put his hand on Mick’s cheek to feel his jaw move as they kissed. He couldn’t get close enough. Mick seemed to stay just out of reach. He expected a blowjob, but Mick reached his hand down instead, stroking him, and Keith gasped just slightly, surprised. It was somehow like high school, and somehow more intimate, the way Mick’s face stayed so close to his own, his breathing, heavy, right next to Mick’s ear. He leaned forward for a sloppy kiss, breathing hard and trying not to make any noise. He touched Mick’s jutting collar bones and the soft hair on the back of him neck, all with his eyes close, mapping him. He was perfect. Keith mentally shook himself. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep upright, he was dizzy.

Mick leaned his face in, kissing Keith just on the bottom lip. It was oddly sweet. Keith opened his mouth for a deeper kiss, he pushed against him, Mick’s hand still moving slowly between them. Agonizingly slow, and also, Keith never wanted it to end. He didn’t usually do this. Even when he occasionally made out, or more, with a stranger, it wasn’t like this. He’d been in bar bathroom meetups. They were fun, they weren’t serious, they were Keith pretending to be someone else, they were fast. This was just Keith, in the office bathroom, sweating through his white shirt. 

Kissing Mick was like kissing someone he knew. His tongue slid into his Mick’s mouth, over his teeth, for a second, and Mick made a noise that might have been a laugh at how sloppy it all was, and Keith just wanted him more. 

“You’re going so slow,” he said, his mouth against Mick’s. 

Mick kissed him, he slowed down even more. Keith groaned. 

Mick laughed again, that gentle laugh. Keith opened his eyes. Mick, the IT Guy, who he barely knew. But when he smiled like that, Keith did know him. He wanted him. He needed him to speed up. 

“Don’t do this to me,” he said, a whisper. It didn’t even sound like him. He arched forward, then stifled a groan as Mick finally moved faster. “Fuck.” There was no more energy to kiss, he let his head fall back, his eyes closed. He hadn’t thought about the mechanics of this. He was getting too close. 

“Hold on—” he said, weakly.

Mick let go and Keith snapped his eyes open. Mick handed him a wad of toilet paper. “I want to watch you finish yourself,” he said. 

Keith swallowed hard. “You do?” Such a stupid thing to say.

Mick nodded.

Keith was so close, he couldn’t stop now. 

Mick’s body heat rippled on to Keith, but he didn’t touch him as Keith reached into his own pants, finishing himself off with four fast movements. His breath came jaggedly. He clenched his teeth. His whole body buzzed knowing Mick was there, watching him. He came, dizzily, slumping against the side of the stall, wrung out. He attempted to straighten himself a bit, then stepped forward for one more kiss, aware of the sweat on his brow, aware of his panting breath. Mick kissed him, almost chastely, and Keith watched, wrecked, as Mick straightened Keith’s tie, smoothed the front of his shirt. Mick cinched Keith's belt again, then smiled, something between his put-on boredom and his real smile. “Make sure to wash your hands well, get under the nails.” He unlocked the stall door, then turned back. “Any more computer trouble, ask for Mick.”


End file.
